


carpe diem

by Monotagar1es



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fix-It, Mallory is a nice person who doesn't run people over, Michael deserved better, Michael is a Little Shit, Redemption, Slow Burn, Soul Bond, as expected
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-24 02:51:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16631462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monotagar1es/pseuds/Monotagar1es
Summary: "Don't push yourself too hard, Mallory. If you force a spell, especially a powerful one, it won't work. And that's the best case scenario. At worst, it could seriously backfire on you. Take your time. "Cordelia's words echo in her mind with the same violence of the waves inside the tub. But Michael's hands are on her neck, squeezing mercilessly. So Mallory in her desperation does the first thing that comes to her head: she grabs two handfuls of his hair and sinks him with her.Things don't go as expected.





	1. tempus infinitum

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm in total denial after the finale and I wrote this.  
> Sorry.

"Satan only has one son, but my sisters are a legion, son of a bitch."

The world is the hilt of a knife in the wrong hands, the exclamation that escapes from his lips —almost without permission— and the familiar, damp and _sickening_ sound of flesh against the floor. A blink in the apocalypse. It's barely half a second, but for him, it's an eternity that is not measured by clocks, but by how quickly Cordelia bleeds out two floors below.

And then he feels it. The breath of life, of lost power without a host fluttering like a sigh, like a breath. A breeze about to unfold its wings. 

A new Supreme about to rise.

 _The girl._ he thinks, wildly. _Where is the girl?_

Transmutation comes naturally. 

Another fraction of a second and he's there. And then there's screaming and _desperate_ , badly pronounced Latin. Michael throws himself across the room, the red-haired witch distilling fire from her eyes before ceasing to exist by a simple movement he makes with his wrist. 

He doesn't even bother to look at her body.

The haste has made him sloppy, stripped him of his usual grace. The raw panic in his chest awakes the instincts of the most human part of the body he inhabits, and then there is no magic but the voice within himself that says, orders, yells —stop her, stop her _now _.__

Michael is at her side in a flash, his hands already curved in claws, suspended over her underwater form - ready to attack. And then he notices it. The mantra that the girl was chanting.The water as black as his pupils that have swallowed the blue of his eyes. Tempus infinitum. 

The girl is almost completely submerged, the only thing in sight is her hair in that hideous bun. Michael grabs her forearm tightly under the water and drags it to the surface with the same violence, eyes wide with anger. 

Mallory gasps for air, but Michael doesn't waste time in wrapping his hands around her throat and squeezing, seeking to hear the pleasant snap of bone. 

He's not going to make the same mistake after underestimating Cordelia. No magic. No more security than the one of his own hands. He is going to indulge himself with the sureness that he finally ended every fucking witc—...

"Congratulations," he almost cooes before hissing "You almost did it."

"No. " Mallory seems to be choking with his own spit, but somehow manages to mumble that. "Not yet." With the strength that one could only find in someone who is at the brink of their life, the girl grabs roughly two handfuls of his long hair and sinks them both into the depths of the tub.

Michael feels the bubbles rushing from her mouth against his face, and then the pull of power between them.

He's not sure which one of the two wins before the world turns around them.


	2. unwilling aid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my God! I can't believe the positive response this story had! Thank you so much for all your comments and kudos! <3

Against all odds, it's her who rises up first. 

She opens her eyes between gasps of air and an unpleasant, burning sensation in her nose like she had breathed water.

She thinks she probably did. 

The shock causes her to sit up. Mallory never had the chance to perform Descensum, but she supposes that this is akin to how it feels. Zoe, with haunted eyes, had mentioned once her experience in a class, drifting off of the topic she was explaining almost without realizing. Her audience didn't seem to mind at the time. After all, the feats of their older sisters were a source of awe between the younger witches. Things that were whispered with sparks in the eyes. Challenges. Limits that could be crossed.

 _But some limits are not to be crossed,_ a grim part of her says.

 _It was worse than the last time,_ Mallory thinks. Much more violent. Back to her failed trip to the old Russia, there had been dizziness and slight nausea that she overcame quickly. This time is different, now there's a restless, strong beating pulse in her ears, threatening to make her head spin. She can feel the blood fleeing from her head to her seized limbs.

 _Did I make it?_ Hope flourishes inside of her chest as she stands awkwardly, taking on her strangely wooded surroundings...

—and then, a couple of meters from her, she notices it. 

Notices _him_.

The hope inside her chest twists painfully before disappearing completely.

Michael Langdon lies there in all his dark and battered glory. It's impossible to ignore him. He contrasts unpleasantly with the landscape. After all, the man is a creature that Mallory learned to associate with decadence and barren lands.

 _"I don't think I can be responsible for the lives of seven billion people"_ Her own words seem to take a new meaning, a new _weight_ on her frail shoulders.

She hasn't saved anyone. Thoughtlessly, she aided the coming of the Antichrist in this timeline. 

In the rush of saving her world, she condemned this one too.

 _No,_ she thinks, something similar to fire lighting inside her, devouring the remains of the doubtful and elusive Mallory of the Outpost that still refuses to disappear, still clings in the edges of her conscience. _This isn't over yet._

Mallory walks carefully towards his motionless form as if she were approaching a wild animal. 

In a way she _is_. She has already seen his claws, his teeth sinking into bloody hearts. The eyes that are pure pupil, black like those of a scavenger bird.

 _Maybe he's dead,_ she prays, _please let him be dead._

Ten steps later, the fire that had so valiantly filled her is extinguished. Judging by the way his chest rises and falls placidly —frustratingly so— he's very much alive. 

Against her best judgment, Mallory can't help but _look_ at him. 

Even with his features sprinkled with blood, he's beautiful. Horribly beautiful. 

She observes him in the same way that someone would dispassionately appreciate the beauty of the edge of a fine dagger. Every aspect of him seems to be carefully designed for deception. _For he is a liar and the father of lies,_ a whisper says, almost caressing her mind. 

She doesn't know from where it comes.

Mallory thinks about throttling him, by the sake of irony, but the risk of waking him up is too high. She turns her head from side to side distressedly seeking guidance, but the only thing that returns her gaze is the harmless vegetation around her. 

She's not entirely sure where she is. She's not sure what _year_ it is. She should have landed in 2015, according to Cordelia's estimations, but Mallory thinks that perhaps time-traveling works differently when you bring more than one person. It's not like there's evidence to guide her, she's basically a pioneer in the matter. 

_I'll do it again,_ she thinks resolutely, _I just have to do it ag—._

Mallory never has the chance to finish the thought; an invisible, _vicious_ force flings her across the woods before she can do it. She falls to the ground with the grace of a ragdoll. 

When she looks up, Mallory already anticipates what she's going to see, imagines flaming blue eyes full of anger... but it's a completely different sight the one that fills her eyes: Michael is standing, looking perplexedly at the open, clear sky. 

The roles may have changed, but he has the same bewildered look that he wore, almost a lifetime ago, in their interview.

"What did you _do_?" but it's not a question, it's a sound of pure frustration, denial from the depths of his chest.

Mallory swallows almost without realizing it, but her fierce look doesn't waver. 

"I fixed it." she ends up saying, and it's not a truth, but it isn't a lie either. 

It's just the feeling of ash in her mouth. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus this ended up going in a completely different direction that I'd expected. I hope I didn't dissapoint. Sorry if it's short! Please let me know what you think <3
> 
> (I read an Interview with Cody Fern, and when asked if there was hope for Langdon he said; _We’ve seen Langdon in Outpost 3 [at the beginning of the season]. So we can let go of that hope! (Laughs.)_. So my natural response was _hold my beer_ because I'm a sucker for antagonists. Thus this story that will try to be older, dark, and bad Outpost 3 Michael. Or at least I hope so.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes! The bathtub showdown-soul bound AU that nobody asked.  
> English is not my first language, as you can see. Sorry for that!  
> And yes, I did pull the Kyle and Madison card on this.


End file.
